


but with whom can you sit in water?

by doomedtimelines



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Non-Chronological
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomedtimelines/pseuds/doomedtimelines
Summary: It is 2:32 in the morning, and Agnes Montague is in her bathtub.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	but with whom can you sit in water?

**Author's Note:**

> unedited version posted on tumblr.

IT IS 2:32 IN THE MORNING, and Agnes Montague is in her bathtub.

From behind the door, Gertrude can hear the slosh of water, and the occasional sniff. From above and around, she can hear the patter of rain on the rooftop and the faint hum of the air conditioner.

She sits with her back pressed against the wall. Her tailbone complains; her body’s way of telling her to stand up, to move, to stretch, to get off the floor. Gertrude does none of these things. She stays put, stares at the cracked yellow paint across the wall, and listens.

.

When Agnes had showed up on her doorstep, inexplicably dry, peering at through her hair, Gertrude’s first thought was how  _ small _ she looked.

“Can I come in.”

Agnes’s question was inflectionless, like always.

Gertrude had glanced at the clock, taken note of the time. She moved out of the doorway and took Agnes’s jacket off for her as she stepped inside.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Agnes hadn’t said anything. She’d stood in the middle of the living room, arms limp at her side, looking like a lost child, or an alien unsure of the proper etiquette. Gretrude pressed her lips together.

“I’ll put on a cup of tea, then.”

.

Agnes had cried quite a lot in the bathroom. Muffled her sobs into her hand, presumably.

Gertrude had not done anything, had not cracked open the door, had not knocked. What could she say? She isn’t any good at providing comfort, never has been. Anyone remotely close to her knew that. And yet Agnes had come to her. What did that say about the two of them, she wondered.

But now, Agnes is quiet, and Gertrude can only guess at what that means.

.

The first words Agnes spoke were a whisper. “He found out.”

Gertrude’s throat had closed up, but she only nodded. “Ah.”

“Things were-- It was--” Agnes inhaled, exhaled. Collected herself. “He was fine. At first.” She tucked her chin into her chest. A few strands of hair slipped out from behind her ear. “But tonight he--” Her shoulders collapsed inwards. Her hair fell over her face. “It wasn’t okay.” Her voice was flat. Not her usual undisturbed candace, but one that spoke of a storm brewing underneath.

_ Why me?  _ Gertrude wanted to ask.  _ Why me, of all people? _

But she already knew why, as much as she tried to deny it, as loathe as she was to admit it.

.

Soft squeak of skin on tile. Ruste of fabric on skin. Light footsteps of a woman afraid to be anything other than what was expected, then was afraid of that too.

Gertrude opens her eyes.

The fact is that Agnes is frail. The fact is that Agnes is too soft, too malleable, like wax. The fact is that she takes things to heart. The fact is that Agnes is as likely to set herself on fire as Gertrude is likely to set someone else aflame. The fact is that one cruel word might shatter her, and you might not even know she is broken, if you don’t know where to look for the cracks.

The fact is that Gertrude is cold and callous and distant. The fact is that Gertrude pushes and prods and looks and knows but does not care when she has crossed the line. The fact is that Gertrude does not know how to deal with soft things like Agnes. The fact is that Gertrude should push Agnes away for her own good. The fact is that Gertrude is a selfish woman and she will not push her away.

Because she cares for Agnes like Agnes cares for her, even if she does not deserve it.

Because, if she is honest, she  _ loves  _ Agnes. They love each other.

And neither of them will speak it out loud. They don’t have to. Or maybe it’s that they don’t want to.

.

A lapse of silence, neither knowing what to say or willing to speak.

Gertrude did not ask:  _ How did you get here? You must have walked, but it’s raining and you’re not wet. _

Agnes cleared her throat, rose from where she was curled on the couch. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Go ahead.”

.

The door opens. Agnes is wrapped in a towel. Gertrude makes a conscious effort to smile.

Agnes tips her head. “Were you sitting there the whole time?”

“I.” Gertrude clears her throat. “I was.”

Agnes laughs, quietly, extends a hand to help her up. Gertrude takes it and smiles, more naturally this time. This close, she can see where Agnes’s pupils end and her irises begin. “Come to bed?”

Agnes bites her lip. “Okay.”

.

They lay on opposite sides of the bed. They do not hold each other. Not yet. Not tonight.

Gertrude will not insult her by asking if she’s okay. If Agnes wants to tell her more, she will. Or at least, Gertrude believes so. Agnes has always been somewhat of an enigma, even though she has heard her bathe and cry and burn. Gertrude wonders if she is as strange to Agnes.

She does not know if Agnes is asleep, but her breathing is even and slow. This thing between them is tender, is precious, and that makes her very, very afraid.

Tomorrow morning, they will eat breakfast. Tomorrow morning, Gertrude will ask Agnes if she wants to talk. And Agnes might say yes, or she might say no. Tomorrow morning will become tomorrow evening, and evening will become night, and night will become morning again. The rest of their lives sprawl ahead of them from this point in time. And each day, Gertrude will be afraid of this soft and messy thing she holds so dear; she is afraid of it  _ because  _ she holds it so dear. But the fear will lessen. Not on the first day, or the first week. Not quickly. Perhaps it will never leave her completely.

But that is tomorrow, and what comes after. Tonight, they only lay in the dark and breathe.


End file.
